The endangered species list isn't limited to animals,
birds, and fish. One of the disappearing icons of small town America is the
roadside diner. Many have been razed to be replaced by kitschy themed strip
malls and cookie-cutter burger doodle joints. More than one whistle stop town,
crisscrossed by winding two lane highways had a Silver Dollar, a Mom's, or a
Dew Drop Inn, the namesake of my personal favorite from my home town locale. Today, it
no longer exists. The result of the inevitable creep of decay caused by time
and the gluttony of progress lead to it being demolished to be replaced by a snazzy
new bistro. I’m sure it's thoroughly missed by those lucky enough to have experienced
its quirky confines during its long lifetime.
The cavernous potholes in the parking lot gave a clue to
its age and popularity. Paint-starved siding waited patiently for its next coat
of paint, while a rusted sign, its weathered letters nearly worn off, stood
solemnly guarding the door. A small iron bell cheerily announced your entrance,
as the fingerprint blackened door banged shut behind you.
In front of you, faded red vinyl and chrome stools stood
half-cocked at attention. They encircled an ancient counter. The innumerable
dishes and utensils dragged across it had scratched and dulled its once bright
surface. In front of each stool the pattern on the counter had been worn off by
the multitude of arms and hands rested there grasping nickel cups of coffee.
A sleepy-eyed, rumpled, middle-aged woman with a pleasant smile and thin mousy gray hair sat behind the cash register. The stool where she perched sighed
when relieved of her weight as she rose to show you to your table.
The unevenly sloped floor created the sense of falling as you walked into the dining
room. The low ceiling, the sparse old style fluorescent lights, and the trip
across that crazily slanted floor solidified your sense of The Dew Drop's earthy
charm.
The seating was stiff, un-padded wooden benches, worn slick as
oil by the dozens of rumps rubbed across their surface, making it difficult
to sit back without sliding under the table. The padded seats were on the two tops!
Once you were seated the atmosphere assaulted your senses. A cacophony of
clanging pots, and clinking dishes, occasionally interrupted by a loud thump,
leaked from the kitchen. The aroma coming from that kitchen was a welcome invasion to your
nose; the signal that you had indeed made a good choice.
Simply prepared food on heavy china was brought steaming to
your table. Real steam from fresh hot food, not microwaved frozen crap. The inn usually
had only two waitresses in the dining room unless it was a real busy day. If
you didn't look close they were hard to tell apart. They both wore their dark
graying hair piled on their heads, overfilled their uniforms a bit, and carried
a warm and friendly smile. The only definite way to tell them apart were the
glasses one wore. Usually they were perched precariously on her head and
no doubt bets were placed on when they would fall to the floor.
If you judged the Dew Drop Inn on appearance alone you
would miss out on the best part: the food. The dining room was always packed on
weekends and with good reason. Fresh, soft melt-in-your-mouth dinner rolls came
warm to your table first, followed by a hot meal that looked like it had been
prepared at home. Pork chops, Delmonico steak or a
half pound beef steak patty were the usual dinner meat items, all well prepared
and simply presented and they tasted even better. The main reason to clean your
plate was what came after: homemade pies. Apple, lemon meringue, and the house
specialty coconut cream were all served as a generous slab that nearly
overflowed the plate it was on. I often wanted another slice though I very
rarely got one.
The Dew Drop Inn wasn't fancy, hip, slick, or cool, but the
cozy, cramped atmosphere, the tasty simple food, and its rustic historic feel made
it a great place for an afternoon pit stop. I still look for places like that
when I travel, and though they may be more difficult to come by in our new
world I’ve still been lucky on more than one occasion to find a similar member on this endangered species list. Not all of them are gems
like this one. To me this little slice of heaven was a pearl of great pleasure.
